“Time”
Frank always made sure he got the latest gadget, the newest technology. He used to tell everyone, “I was born too early.”
Born on a hot summer day in 1955, he had seen a lot—the evolution of cars, the telephone, airplanes, the first home computer and the birth of so much more. He often thought back to his earlier years, never missing a chance to tell a story. Frank had two children and seven grandchildren whom he loved to be around. They made him feel alive.
At 70 years old, he got around pretty well. He thought about his age often. His health was still good, yes—but everything was becoming so new, so advanced, and he didn’t have enough time left to enjoy it. That thought lingered constantly.
In the last ten years, he had taught himself to repair computers, do a little coding, build websites, and make short videos. He loved interacting with AI—it amazed him. But it bothered him deeply that he came along so late in history. He would love to have just a little more time.
Frank also loved sci-fi. He devoured everything he could read about space and life on other planets. He firmly believed life existed beyond Earth, and now people were actually taking rides in rockets. It was only a matter of time before humans traveled to other planets.
I won’t be around to see it, he thought often.
One night, Frank was up late on his computer when he saw an ad for the latest “smart watch.” He couldn’t resist—clicked, ordered, and then forgot about it. He ordered so much tech late at night, he couldn’t remember it all.
When the watch arrived, he opened it, looked at it, and set it on his night table. He skimmed the instructions and started pressing the buttons. It only seemed to have one button on each side—no more features than a normal watch.
Smart, my butt, Frank muttered. “Oh well, it’s not the first time I’ve been ripped off, and it probably won’t be the last.”
Before bed, he decided to test the alarm. He searched the instructions on his laptop, “press the right-side button until the time blinks,” it said. He followed the instructions, and set it for 6:00 a.m.
He drifted off.
About an hour later, Frank was jolted awake by a blinding flash of light—so bright it hurt his eyes and left a ringing in his ears. It was just a flash. He looked around but saw nothing out of the ordinary, so he went back to sleep.
At exactly 6:00 a.m., the new watch chimed—a loud, crisp jingle. Frank sat up, and it hit him like a brick.
The room wasn’t right.
The lights were too bright—artificial. The furniture looked unfamiliar, futuristic. The air felt… wrong.
“These lights are way too bright,” he mumbled.
A voice answered.
“Would you like me to lower the level a bit, Frank?”
He froze. The voice was mechanical—like Siri, but cleaner, colder.
He had never used Siri. He hated voice assistants.
Again, calmly:
“Would you like me to lower the light level, Frank?”
The lights dimmed slightly.
“Who are you?” he asked, his voice trembling.
“I am KATY, model K-733. On September 7th, 2273, I was assigned to you, Frank Grady. I am programmed with 103,000 functions aboard this vessel. My primary function is to ensure the safety and wellbeing of passengers until they reach their final destination. Would you like me to explain the priority function protocol?”
Frank’s chest tightened. He’d been pranked before—but never like this. His mind raced through possible culprits.
He turned toward what looked like a window as Katy activated the Observation Port Protocol, and the curtains retracted and disappeared.
Only darkness. Endless stars. No yard. No neighbors. No Earth.
He stood up, heart pounding.
“Katy… what happened to me?”
A soft chime.
“You activated Temporal Displacement Mode. Your watch transported you to a scheduled relocation vessel. You are aboard the Odyssey-17. Destination: Alpha Centauri Station.”
Frank swallowed hard.
“But… I didn’t want to leave Earth. I just wanted more time…”
“Indeed,” she replied. “You expressed that desire 4,287 times in your lifetime. The Temporal Preservation Initiative selected you as an ideal candidate.”
He sat down on the bed—if it was a bed at all—pulse thudding in his ears.
“So I’m… in the future?”
“Yes, Frank. You now exist in the year 2273. Medical rejuvenation begins shortly. You will be granted approximately two additional centuries of life.”
Two centuries. The dream. The wish. The longing.
“But my family…” he whispered. “My kids. My grandchildren…”
Silence.
“Everyone you knew has passed, Frank.”
The words cut deeper than any fear of time ever had.
Frank stared at the stars—endless, beautiful, terrifying.
He had gotten more time.
Just not the time he wanted.
The watch blinked on the nightstand, softly pulsing like a heartbeat.
Time giveth.
Time taketh.
And sometimes…
time simply takes you.